Cruel Kindness
by Corruputed-Ink
Summary: Young Miles Edgeworth is being taught by his mentor, Manfred Von Karma. His methods are...unusual. And brutal.


_**Hear ye! Hear ye! Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Manfred Von Karma and other characters are property of Capcom! **_

_**KTHXBAI!**_

_**Btw: Must apologise for my terrible German, i don't speak it and most was done through an online translation service.**_

**Cruel Kindness?**

Manfred Von Karma walked around the small desk in the cold garage. He folded the collar up on his black winter coat as the 15 year old boy at the desk shivered as he read the book in front of him.

His breath fogging in the class room he had constructed in the garage, the temperature was at the perfect rate as discussed by prominent scientists to encourage learning. Certainly, it was cold. And certainly, Miles would no doubt get some sort of cold. But all the better, to build up a resistance to it would be a good exercise for it.

Miles raised his hand.

"Vot is it?" asked Manfred.

"May i use the restroom please Mr. Von Karma?"

"German." Manfred insisted.

"Mag ich die Toilette bitte benutzen, Herr Von Karma?" stuttered Miles Edgeworth, breathing hot air onto his fingers as he did.

"No." continued Von Karma in English "You are not scheduled a toilet break for another hour and fifteen minutes."

"Bitte bin ich hoffnungslos."

_Please, I'm desperate._

"Desperation is a final act of a weakling. Are you a weakling Miles Edgeworth?" sneered Manfred, standing in front of the table where Miles was now sat in nothing but his jumper and trousers. Shivering from the frosty atmosphere.

"Nein." he shook his head. "Aber, ich muß die Toilette wirklich benutzen. Sir."

_No, but i really must use the toilet sir._

"Hands on the desk, fingers spread." Von Karma began in a quiet, menacing tone.

Miles looked down at his knees as he closed the book on the desk, put his hands on the freezing cold surface and spread his fingers.

Manfred brought up his cane, the width of his own thumb and rapped it hard against the muscles.

Miles gave a soft whimper of discomfort as the cold walking cane rammed against his knuckles, turning them bright red as the blood rushed to the surface, the cold air stinging the bruising bones.

"No crying out." Manfred ordered softly as he rapped at the knuckles again.

Miles crossed his legs to try and stop the urge to urinate and bit his lips as the skin on his knuckles ruptured, leaving red trickles of blood from where the cane had hit him.

He must have flinched because Manfred Von Karma grabbed his thick Grey hair in his cold gloved hands and said:

"Pathetisch. Säubern Sie jene Hände." he spat. "Ich wünsche nicht schmutziges Blut auf meinen Büchern."

_Pathetic, Clean those hands. I don't want your dirty blood on my books._

Miles swallowed the pain back and uncrossed his legs under the table before closing his fists, letting the blood trickle over the cold skin, enjoying the oddly curious feeling of the warm rivers paving their way down his white skin, for a moment he remembered that his fathers blood ran his veins.

An oddly comforting thought, almost as if his father, was holding his cold, beaten hands again.

Smiling weakly, to himself, Edgeworth watched the blood roll down his hands, onto the desk.

Manfred caught sight of the smile and in a fit of fury, he reached for the cane again, this time bringing the handle of it round and knocking Miles from his chair, the handle catching him brutally in the chin.

Miles coughed and spat some blood onto the dirty floor before looking up defiantly at Manfred.

"YOUR FATHER IS DEAD YOU PATHETIC CREATURE!" Snapped Manfred, spittle flying down his chin in rage. "HE WILL NOT LOOK AFTER YOU, AND TEACH YOU AS I HAVE! YOU NEED TO REALISE WHERE YOUR LOYALITIES LIE! NOW GET UP!"

Miles forced himself from the dirty floor, feeling blood roll down his chin.

"Apologise for your conduct."

"Verzeihen Sie mir Vater."

_Forgive me father._

Manfred seized his cane in his hand again.

"Clean up your mess then you may come in for lunch." Manfred began softly and walked out of the garage into the kitchen area that adjoined it.

Miles looked down at the floor and sniffed. The pain in his jaw was spreading to his head and his knuckles would not feel well enough to write or perhaps even eat correctly for a while. He fought the urge to cry, the burning in his eyes, the feeling of sorrow in his chest, the need to cry out in his throat, he swallowed it all back.

'Its for the best...' he heard himself whisper shakily 'He's doing this for your future. So you can be strong. There are no tears in court.'

Gathering himself, he took his books, a rag from the nearest cupboard and cleaned his blood, his fathers blood from the floor. But instead of discarding it, as he knew he should, he folded it up and put it in his pocket. For just a little longer, he wanted to believe his father was indeed with him. If only in his blood.


End file.
